


Gal Pals

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:46:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Root x Shaw prompt: Root and Shaw have to go undercover as a couple but a whole bunch of guys keep reading them as sisters (God only knows how but they do). Finally, Shaw gets miffed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gal Pals

"Hi, Honey," Shaw freezes at the words, stopping mid-twist of the wrench, staring up at the underside of a Chevy. She'd just finished unbolting the brake caliper when she heard the familiar voice. With a sigh, she puts down the wrench and uses the car's side to pull herself out from under it. She rolls back easily on a yellow creeper, being sure to keep her hair clear of its wheels. Emerging from under the truck, Shaw sees Root's smiling face as she watches her with affectionate eyes.

"What do you want, Root?" Shaw asks. Better yet, why are you here? Shaw listens to the sounds of welding, power drills, and revving engines, wondering if anyone's noticed Root's presence. This job, although not nearly as great as firing a gun, was much better than her last identity. She almost shivers, recalling the old retail store that she'd worked in.

"You and I are going out," Root tells her with a secretive smirk. "Hope you like deli sandwiches." Shaw watches her face a moment, contemplating on whether Root is serious or not.

"Is this..." Shaw trails off, not wanting to say the words aloud with so many others around. Root seems to understand, and gives her a wink. She looks Shaw up and down, eyes stopping back on Shaw's eyes. Waiting.

"Come on, Sameen," Root says, enjoying this all too much. "Don't keep your girlfriend waiting."

Rolling her eyes, Shaw stretches her hand forward for Root to grab, not even bothering to wipe the grease away. Without hesitation, Root pulls Shaw up to a standing position. But she continues to pull, bringing Shaw agonizingly close to her, still holding onto her hand. Shaw's jaw sets, trying suppress the fluttering in her stomach, while Root gives a dark half-smile, doing the same thing.

Shaw, after a long moment, tears her hand away and stalks to the back room, not looking back. Root watches her go, then grabs a nearby rag to wipe away the black sludge on her hand.

This better be good, Shaw fumes, washing her hands in the employee sink. Thick grease slides down the drain as her hands slowly return to their natural color. She walks over to her locker, unzipping her jumpsuit, revealing a white tank top and short, gray shorts underneath. As she stuffs it into the locker, someone walks in.

"Sup, Pretty Boy," a man says, coming to the sink to wash his own black hands. Being the only woman working in the entire repair shop, she'd quickly earned the nickname. One of these days I'll snap their wrists for it. Shaw looks over at him, taking in his dirty face and red beard turned brown with dirt. His jumper is grungy, and his boots no better.

"Clocking out," she replies, pulling on jeans over the shorts. "What are you doing, Clarke?" He shakes his hands out, drying them, yet they are still stained an ugly gray.

"Lunch break. Going to some festival at the park."

Shaw pulls on a shirt, then throws on her jacket and shoes. Looking up, she sees Clarke staring, and flares with anger. "Can I help you?" She spits, and he snaps out of his gawking trance.

"Uh, yeah, sorry," he says, bringing a hand to the back of his head awkwardly. Then, he drops it, looking at her with new interest in his eyes. "You know that girl out there?" He asks. "The good looking one with the brown hair?"

Shaw crosses her arms, tongue rolling across her teeth in annoyance. "Yeah," she retorts. "What about her?"

"Nothin'," he replies shaking his head. "You two seem close."

Shaw remains silent a moment. "Get to the point."

"Think you could hook me up?" Shaw's arms drop to her sides, and her eyes open wide. "Come on," he says, reading her expression. "She's your sister, you can talk to her." My sister?

"What?" Shaw asks, utterly dumbfounded.

"You can't tell me she's not your sister. With how close the two of you are- at least out there- what else could it be?" Shaw can feel her fists clench as she slams her locker shut. Without another word, she walks past, bristling. As she leaves the door, Clarke calls out, "At least introduce us?"

___________\ If Your Number's Up /____________

"What is this about?" Shaw asks as they walk down the street, headed for a large gathering in Central Park.

"We have a booth to find," Root tells her vaguely, leaving Shaw even more curious.

"And for this one reason, we have to be a couple?" Root smirks, sending a quick look her way.

"It is a match-making and couples service," Harold tells Shaw through her ear wig, filling the uninformed gap. "We both saw it more fitting for you to both be together than forced into a night of speed dating." Shaw bites the side of her cheek.

"Couldn't someone else have done this?" Shaw asks him angrily, not wanting to be near one lovey couple, let alone 3.41 kilometers squared of them.

"Oh, Sam," Root says in a sweet but condescending tone as they approach the entry booth. "Lighten up. We can have a good time."

"Yeah right," Shaw mutters back as they step forward.

"Looking or Found?" An old woman asks with a large smile and wire rimmed glasses. What? Shaw thinks, trying to understand the question. The woman holds up two stickers. The first is sky blue with half a heart in the corner; the other is a pastel pink with a completed, red heart in the corner. The blue reads "looking" and the second "found."

"Found," Root answers her with a large smile, doting eyes on Shaw as she wraps her hands around Shaw's right arm, leaning into her. The woman's smile grows, and she slaps a pink sticker onto each of their shirts.

"Enjoy your time!" The woman tells them earnestly, and they both walk off and into the park. All around there are thick, green-leafed trees and booths riddled between them. Anywhere that was once grass now holds tables and tents. Shaw is so taken aback by the transformation, she all but forgets Root's hold on her.

"May I interest you in a schedule?" A man asks, and Shaw turns to look at him. He's tall and lanky with a dapper smile and clean cut hair under a helmet. He hands both of them a pamphlet. "Be sure to show your husbands when they get back," he tells them with a wink, then skates off. Shaw watches him go, brow knitting together. Our husbands? Shaking her head, she leaves Root, throwing the paper into the nearest waste bin. When she comes back, she sees Root invested into the schedule. Her hair is tucked behind her ear on the left side, but everything cascades down the right side of her face, creating a curtain for the scenery behind her. Her eyes are soft, expression effortless, as she stands in the shadowy canopy of trees. Root looks up, catches Shaw staring, and smiles.

"We need to find booth 16-A," Root tells Shaw with a smile as Shaw takes her eyes from Root, flustered for no aparent reason. What's wrong with me today? Root closes the pamphlet, and together, they head off. 

Again, Shaw finds herself looking at Root, not knowing why. She casts her face away angrily, commanding herself to stop. They walk deeper through cobblestone pathways, life flourishing around them, when they come past a large pillar with hieroglyphics etched into it.

"You, there!" A man shouts down at Shaw, and she brings her head to look at him. She has to squint with the sun in her eyes, trying to make out this man. "Come!" Shaking her head, unamused, she continues to walk. "You can bring your sister!" The man calls out, and Shaw stops, feeling that she's reaching her limit with patience. Why I oughta, she seethes, taking up the stairs with Root at her side. Root's face shows an unease, as if she knows just what Shaw is thinking.

"Sweetie, it's not worth it," Root whispers into her ear as they come to the landing, where couples stand in a semi-circle around this man. He has on tight leather pants and no shirt, a baseball cap hung sideways on his head. All around, Shaw acknowledges the smiling faces of teens and young adults like themselves, all paired. But, she realizes all too easily there is a difference between the others and themselves. There is a guy and a girl for each, she thinks to herself, scanning over the crowd once more.

"Oh, my," the man says, voice dropping slightly with mistake. "I did not realize the two of you already had plus-ones," he tells them apologetically. He gestures to two men standing behind him, each charming and about their ages, with blue stickers on their shirts. Looking around a third time, Shaw sees they all have blue stickers. "Where are they?" He asks, brow furrowed.

"Where are who?" Root asks, voice laced with uncertainty. Shaw can feel Root come closer to her, ready to put up the defense if necessary. Shaw can't help the flutter that rises in her stomach at the thought.

"You're plus-ones," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The point of this day is to spend time with them after all, what are the two of you doing walking around without them? Quite confusing, yes?" He asks the others, who murmur their agreement.

There is no way in Hell, Shaw thinks, feeling the angered steam billowing from her ears. There is no way in Hell all of these people are this blunt. Shaw opens her mouth to give them a piece of her mind, but Root beats her to it.

"We, uh, we are each other's plus-ones," she tells him in a serious tone, and a red blush instantly comes to his dark cheeks.

"Oh." All around them, the people shift uncomfortably with their new found pairings, none of them meeting Shaw's smoldering gaze. Infuriated- ready to crack a few skulls at the least- she grabs Root's hand angrily, pulling her back down the stairs and out of sight of the strange gathering. They walk for a long while down an aimless and deserted path before Shaw finally stops, relinquishing her grip. She wants to shoot something, hit something- do anything to quell this tempest of rage spinning within her. Turning, her hand connects roughly with a large tree, and the bark tears into her knuckle. Grimacing, she pulls it back, shaking out her hand as a few blood drops splatter against the ground.

"Did you really have to do that?" Root asks, but not at all mean. Just a general question left mostly empty. Sighing, Shaw's anger drains, and she presses a hand to her knuckle to stop the bleeding.

"Helped," she replies shortly, looking back to Root. For the first time it comes to her just how very alone they are. She can feel her cheeks grow warm and turns herself away from Root quickly, rubbing her hands on her black jeans. "How much farther until we find that booth?" Shaw asks, not looking back.

"If we go up a little further, it should be on the other side of some bridge," Root tells her, coming forward. She places her hand comfortingly on Shaw's shoulder for no more than a second before quickly retracting it. Still, it is enough to send electricity shooting through Shaw's nerves. Swallowing hard, she walks forward with Root, focusing on the park's every detail, not wanting to look at Root just yet- fearful of what she might see, or even show herself.

They come to a brown-stone bridge that glints like copper in the sun. It's shape is that of a stretched tear drop, with a design etched into the keystone. Peering in, Shaw can see a boy playing a guitar against the wall, and a girl singing beside him. A small crowd gathers there to watch, tossing a few dollars in a hat before walking on.

A couple turns to the bridge, getting there just before them.

"Wait, wait!" A woman calls out, rushing from the shadows of trees to see them. An old man with a thick white beard an walking stick emerges from behind her. "Didn't you read the sign?" She asks, and the couple shakes their heads no. Clearing his throat, the old man starts out on a monologue, aparently memorizing it line for line.

"Here you have come to our bridge!  
Move together- just a smidge.

  
"Before you can travel through our tunnel,  
Meet together like a lake and its runnel!

  
"In order to pass, seek your Miss.  
The key to this riddle, is a kiss!"

Shaw stops, eyes widening in mortification. Root looks at her quizzically. "What is it?" She asks.

"Is there any other bridge we can use?" Shaw says in a low, calm voice, eyes not leaving the old man.

"Um..." Root looks down to the map, sorting through the labyrinth of trails. "There's one about a quarter mile away from-"

"Great, let's go," Shaw cuts her off, starting back down the trail. Root turns, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

"What has gotten into you?" She asks, voice coming with worry. Shaw is turned back just in time to see her suspicions confirmed. She jerks her head forward, and Root follows its direction.

The couple that tried to pass is kissing at the beginning of the bridge, and the older tunnel guards look at them pleasantly.

"You may pass!" The woman exclaims as the two pull away, and with large smiles, they walk under the bridge. Root looks back to Shaw with an understanding expression.

"Do you wish to use our pathway?" The man asks Shaw and Root, who freeze, caught. Root is facing the man, but her eyes are glued to Shaw, who wears an unreadable expression.

"No, thank you," Root answers at last, looking to the old couple. "We'll find somewhere else to cross."

"But why?" The woman asks, advancing on the two.

"We don't really... do that," Root says slowly, referring to their riddle. The woman gives her an amused, sympathetic look.

"There is nothing wrong with kissing family," she assures Root happily, and Shaw grows tense. I swear if I hear one more sister reference I will-

"A woman without her sister is like a bird without wings," the man tells them, and the woman nods in agreement.

"Do we sound like sisters?" Shaw asks is a deadly voice, silent but carrying to all of them with the venom of a black mamba.

The man gives her a confused look. "Well, ah, no- but what else-"

"Do we look like sisters?" She asks, voice just as fatal.

"...No..."

"Is there even an ounce of resemblance between the two of us that could be considered family?"

"No," the man sighs out, filling with dread and fright.

"Then tell me: why are we sisters." The man's eyes grow wide at the harsh demand.

"Sam..." Root murmurs loud enough for only Shaw to hear, but she ignores it entirely.

"You can't," Shaw says hot-headedly and filled with bitter rage. "Because no matter how idiotically close-minded you are, there is absolutely nothing that tells you we're sisters. You just-"

"Sorry," Root cuts through Shaw's steadily growing rant, aiming her apology at the old couple. "You'll have to excuse her, she can get a little angry when she's hungry." Root sends Shaw daggers for eyes, telling her to calm down. "Can we just get by?"

The old couple cower back into the shadows, and Root pulls Shaw along, afraid that if she lets go Shaw will pounce, unsheathing her claws to rip them further apart.

"Still think we can have a good time?" Shaw asks cockily, thinking she has the upper hand.

"Any time I get to spend with you is a good time, Sam." At the words, Shaw's upper hand crumbles, and she looks to the tunnel's wall, finding a sudden interest in it. Even in its darkness, Root can see the rim of red on Shaw's ears, and smiles to herself. From the other side of the bridge, Root and Shaw hear a woman's hysteric voice.

"You sick bastard!"

________\ We'll Find You /________

Shaw and Root instantly forget everything in their heads previously, all thoughts focusing on the scene ahead. Running the rest of the way through, they come to a woman swinging a large knife around dangerously, screaming at a man in a booth- the number. He looks terrified. He's older, mid-fifties with a balding head and the beginning of wrinkles creasing his brow. His gray eyes are bewildered, trailing the knife's haphazard patterns before him.

The woman is much younger, no more than thirty, and her blonde hair is pulled up tight, green eyes wild and crazed. "What right do you have to be here?!"

"Wh-who a-are you?" He stammers, falling back to the ground as she swings the knife at him. She rounds the booth to look at him.

"How do you feel," she demands sinisterly, but he can't seem to find words. "You're scared, aren't you? And you're helpless."

"P-p-please! S-st-top-p!"

"And you're begging," she sneers with a malice that cuts deeper than any blade could. Her voice becomes quiet as she advances on him, standing directly over him now. "Is that how she was?" She asks dangerously.

"What?"

"Is that how she was?!" The woman screams, jabbing the knife down beside his ear. He shrieks.

"How who was?!" He asks, fear raging in his words. She uproots the knife from the earth, eyes brimming with angry tears.

"My daughter!" She bellows. "You killed her! I know you did- everyone knows you did!" Root sees his eyes fill with comprehension.

"I- they never- there wasn't any evidence!" He yells back at her.

"Oh, there was plenty," she counters in a silent voice, more fierce than any shout. "But one little mistake on the Forensic Specialist's part, and you were home free. Something that had nothing to do with the case- only the fact that she didn't test the required fifty hairs from your head, and you were let go. Every print, every ounce of DNA- all vanished because of this one blemish!"

"Harold," Root says slowly into her com. "Is this true?"

"I have Detective Fusco working the cold case as we speak," Harold tells her gravely. "I'm afraid it's been a week, and he hasn't come up with much."

"We've gotta move," Shaw tells Root, knowing that this woman is done talking. Shaw draws her gun and walks forward. "Hey!" Shaw calls out, and the woman turns to look at her. She sees the gun in Shaw's hand and becomes frozen.

"Go away," the woman commands, voice shaking.

"I need you to give me the knife," Shaw tells her, walking forward.

"Or what?" The woman sneers, hand tightening around the handle. Shaw shoots the ground less than a centimeter from the woman's shoe, and she jumps back in fright. "But he- he- he!" She yells, gesturing to him with the knife, too distraught to finish the sentence.

"We know," Shaw tells her as Root walks up. "And we have someone working on it." The woman's face softens.

"You do?" Root nods.

"If you have any questions, just contact Detective Lionel Fusco of the NYPD," Root tells her in a kind, calming voice. Like a small child, the woman caves, dropping the weapon. Instantly, the man jumps to his feet and scampers away. There is the sound of police sirens nearby, certainly due to the scene at the booth. "You need to leave, okay?" Root tells her, and she nods. "And don't pursue him, like I said, see the detective." The woman nods once more, then scoops up her knife and runs off. Once out of sight, Shaw sighs, leaning back on the nearest tree.

"This is why I'm a dog person," Shaw groans, stowing away her gun as she brings a hand down her face.

"I can see the appeal," Root replies, leaning against it as well, and their shoulders touch. "Is he really just getting away?"

"We can't always win, Miss. Groves," Harold tells her sympathetically. "All we can do is try our best."

Root nods, understanding, and together, the women leave the crime scene. They cut through a large plot of open land and trees, coming to one of the main paths in the park. Shaw's eyes meet someone's, and her eyes instantly roll. This should be good.

"He-hey! Look who it is!" The man calls out, dirty orange beard and mechanic's jumper on. "What are you doing here, Pretty Boy?"

Abstaining from shooting everyone, Shaw thinks bitterly, eyes smoldering with anger as he approaches. His eyes jump over to Root, and they look her up and down hungrily. A little too hungrily for Shaw's liking.

"And I see you brought your sister," he acknowledges, giving Root a dashing smile. Root gives him a thin, strained one in return.

"Not my sister, Clarke," she tells him in a surprisingly even tone, and his smile drops.

"What?" His eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, still not comprehending.

"She. Is not. My sister," Shaw tries again, speaking in a slow, dumbed-down manner.

"Then... what is she?"

"Why don't we let you think about that one," Shaw replies with a snide tone. Grabbing Root's hand with exaggerated movements, she walks away. Looking at Root, she sees a smug glow radiating from her, and an awfully suppressed smile.

"I thought you said something about deli sandwiches," Shaw grumbles, wanting to think of anything but Root. Root shrugs her shoulders in a knowing way.

"They day's still young, Sameen."


End file.
